


D.C. al Coda

by Marsh_Daisy



Series: "What Time is it in Darwin?" [1]
Category: Gorillaz
Genre: F/M, Humor, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marsh_Daisy/pseuds/Marsh_Daisy
Summary: Noodle has popped back through one of the portals unable to remember where she was for two weeks. 2D isn’t the best person to help someone find their memory, since he sometimes forgets his own address. But for a trip to Osaka and the promise of ice cream, he’s willing to try.
Relationships: Noodle/Stuart "2D" Pot
Series: "What Time is it in Darwin?" [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2069307
Kudos: 4





	D.C. al Coda

My music lay spread around me on my bed; guitar off to the side. I was looking for the lyrics now - reaching deep into that mysterious pool which contains all the words, waiting to be captured. Just one elusive verse to go.

There was a tap at the door, and it opened a crack. A hand snaked in and waved, and then 2D poked his head around and smiled.

I gestured for him to come in. He slid through the crack in the door and then stood in front of it, smiling awkwardly. Everything he does is sort of awkward except when he’s performing. Even then, he often trips getting on stage. I patted the bed in invitation for him to sit. He looked around for a second as if he thought I must be asking someone else. Then he shuffled over and sat down. “I’m glad you’re back. I hate it here without you.” He hesitated for a moment. “You really don’t remember any of it? I know you can take care of yourself. Only I was worried, a bit.”

I shook my head. “I remember everything about wrapping up Song Machine. That’s all clear. After that- nothing until I popped back up here.” Two days ago I arrived back home through the portal to find two weeks had passed and I had no memory of where I had been. I was bewildered. I felt like pieces of my brain were missing. That's not an unusual sensation for any of us - I think 2D actually is missing pieces of his brain. Murdoc greeted me with a grunt and “About fucking time. This place is a mess.” Russel just looked at me and nodded. 2D was the only one who had actually been concerned about me.

Now he shifted on my bed and looked around my room. He took in my posters, books, and instruments. He glanced down at the pages of staffs, notes, and scribbles. “Can I see?”

I shook my head, grabbed the song I was working on and placed it on the other side of me. “Not ready just yet.” I needed to get some things out that I had been waiting a long time to say. I still felt uncertain about sharing them with him. I was waiting for the right moment.

He pulled back, his shoulders drooping, and I felt bad for snatching the music away. His face had fallen a bit, and that was the last thing I wanted. 

This latest bit of absurdity and lost time had shaken me. I survived all sorts of insane events in my life - the list was thrillingly and depressingly long and varied. This odd world we lived in held so many ludicrous uncertainties. I could never be sure what was coming next. The only thing I had been certain of since I was a child was him.

And I was really still waiting for the right moment?

I make my own moments.

I kissed him.

I saw his eyes widen in surprise before they slid closed. His lips were soft and warm and he smelled of the weird cologne he acquired in Morocco. He leaned toward me and returned my kiss, and my heart leaped.

We drew apart a bit, and he stared at me, swallowing hard. Then he moved closer and kissed me again.

His reaction was everything I could hope for. He reached up and touched my cheek, and I slid my hand around the back of his neck, stroking his skin and threading my fingers through his hair.

He yanked himself back then and looked at me with a horrified expression.

I felt hot and cold and stupid. “What’s wrong?” Had I ruined my moment?

He took a deep breath and said, “He'll kill me.”

Sometimes I forget we live with an impulsive, ill-tempered maniac, but you can bet 2D never does.

He put his hands on his thighs and rubbed them nervously. Then he hung his head, no doubt imagining all the creative ways in which Murdoc could dismember him.

I stood and walked to the door. I held it open wide. “I’ve made my choice here. You’re free to make yours.”

He moved to perch on the very edge of the bed, still rubbing his thighs. Then he looked up at me. He seemed to be trying to read my expression, and I carefully kept my face blank. I would not sway whatever his thoughts held - and whatever direction they might be leading him.

A smile crept across his face, and his eyes glowed, and I knew.

I closed the door, and locked it.

He stood, took two strides across the floor, and wrapped his long arms around me. He covered my face and neck with kisses, and then sought my mouth again. He held me tightly, and the moment spun on.

At length he released me, and I took his hand and walked him over to the bed. One more decision. Was I risking everything by rushing him? I could feel his desire, but how much was he willing to risk, regardless of how we both felt?

He was willing.

I laid down, pushing the sheets of music further out of my way. He lowered himself on top of me, adjusting his body to fit mine. I’d observed that body for years: the lanky arms, the legs that were too long for his body and always seemed in his way. His round face and his wide eyes. His spiky blue hair. I held every detail in my memory since I was a child. I blushed over the thought of it when I was a teenager and my feelings for him changed into something confusing and embarrassing. At last I could touch this body as I longed to. I could wrap my legs around him, I could guide his hand to my breast, I could kiss his neck - desires that had resolved themselves into clarity as I became a woman and could put a name to how I felt. Love is never held in stasis. It's energy - it changes form but can never be destroyed.

I pushed him up far enough to unbutton the shirt he bought in Venice beach. He sat up and struggled out of it as his arm got caught. I was scared we might lose momentum, but he came right back to me. I slipped my top off over my head, arching my back to yank it out from under me. He helped me pull it free.

Wiggling him out of his pants presented the same challenges as his shirt: those endless limbs that defied removal. Then we realized he had forgotten about his shoes and socks. There is simply no easy way to get a man undressed. 

It was easy enough to get my skirt off, though.

One last barrier remained.

No, two.

There were still those final garments to be removed, but there was also the final mental barrier as well. There was still a chance to back out - for either of us to back out. What we were about to do would change our friendship. There was no way around that. It was clear his body was ready as mine was. Were we ready in mind and spirit as well? There was really only one way to know.

He hovered over me, leaning on one arm. He traced his finger along my jaw to my cheekbone, pushed my hair back from my face. Then he slipped it down to my breast, any hesitation to touch me completely gone. He stared down at my body, and slid his hand to the waistband of my underpants, and hooked a thumb under the elastic. I lifted my hips and he pulled them down to my knees. I kicked them free. They landed on my electric, sitting on the chair on the other side of the room. 

One last piece to go: I reached down and tugged, and here was once again encumbered, but he helped me get them off. Tall men never disappoint. Another aspect of my teenage fantasies was fulfilled to the centimeter. 

It was perfect from the first second. We settled into a rhythm - that natural rhythm that everyone possesses if they can tap into it. He drew closer, and slipped his arms underneath me to hold me. He buried his face against my shoulder, and as I hit my peak he did too, his breathing ragged and hard. He lay panting for a moment, and cried a little, his body shaking. Then he kissed me, his lips lingering over mine, tasting me, feeling my warmth. “Was it good? Was that good?”

“Yes, it really was.”

He leaned back on his elbow, and I could see his face again; it held an expression of peace and happiness. I was the cause of that, and the thought brought me as great a thrill as the previous few moments had.

I curled up next to him. He lay on his back and draped his long legs over my hip and sang to me.

After a few minutes he wanted to go again, and we did, changing positions. Then more cuddling and talk of a snack. His talk, anyway.

He shifted over a bit, to give me more room to stretch out, and the crinkle of paper stopped him. He reached underneath him, and drew out the song I had been working on. He looked at it for a moment, and then at me. I nodded my permission, and watched him read the words, his lips moving as he sang them in his head. "There’s still a verse missing. Was this- this was the last verse?”

“Yes. It was. What do you think?”

He grinned. “I like it a lot, but we might have to censor some of it.”

******************

That can't be where the song ends. It has to go on, a second movement to our symphony. What harmonies would it bring? Or would we descend into atonal madness?

Depended on which instruments dominated. And when the bass dropped, it was going to explode. 

Shirts were located, underwear distributed to proper owners, belts buckled. Then 2D sat on the edge of the bed, much as he had when he came in.

"Should we say anything? I mean, I do actually enjoy being alive."

I shrugged and held up my hands. I had no clue how to proceed from here: my plans had ended with the removal of 2D's underpants. Once that had been accomplished, I had nothing.

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, my door rattled as a fist banged on it several times.

"It's tea time!" 

Murdoc.

He banged on the door again. "That means someone needs to make tea."

I slipped over to the door, unlocked it and opened it a crack. “Your arms are broken? Would you like them broken?” 

"Never mind the attitude. Just come down and put some biscuits on a plate, there's a good girl."

I started to close the door, but Murdoc stuck his booted foot in. "And by the way, where’s the half-wit? Have you seen him?"

I shrugged. Murdoc moved his foot, and trudged toward the stairs, muttering.

Murdoc lumbered on down. I grabbed 2D’s arm. We could just wait a couple minutes, and then 2D could follow him. Then I could slip out and no one would be the wiser. 

He picked up his shoes and socks and headed out the door. He took a few steps before it dawned on him that going downstairs holding them might look odd. He sat down on the floor to put them on.

The door at the far end of the hall opened and Russel stepped out. Looked at 2D sitting on the floor wearing one sock and a guilty expression. Looked down the hallway at me, hiding behind my door. Russel walked past and started down the stairs. His voice floated back to us: "Sure was nice knowing you."

******************

Metaphorical music time is over. Literal music commences.

It never ends when you're a musician. Every time two notes wander hand in hand through your head, a song begins. Every inane thought that passes through your mind becomes lyrics. It's both exhilarating and exhausting.

Each of us did our own thing, for a bit. Murdoc revived his radio show, which featured all us, all the time. His listeners have excellent taste. Russel was getting to know a rising hip-hop artist from Chelsea. Definitely potential for collaboration in the future. I bought a new guitar and sold an old one. I travelled around, sometimes for an entire day, restless and looking for anything that might jog my memory regarding the time I had lost. I'd been programmed without my knowledge in the past. Had I been taken by the same people who abandoned the project that created me years ago? Or was this some new mess to be untangled?

2D just went about being 2D. He rode his motorcycle. Scribbled random lyrics on scraps of paper which he lost moments later. Watched zombie movies. Chatted with people who have recorded with us - his friendliness and utter lack of guile won people over easily; when he makes friends, they stick around. He accompanied me on many of my day trips, offering ideas that made absolutely no sense but were presented in such an earnest fashion. 

And occasionally slipped into my room to relive one particular memory.

But sneaking becomes tiresome, and in spite of all the things keeping us busy separately, we still spent a great deal of time together. Russel hadn't betrayed us in word or glance. 

There arrived an evening when we all drifted together over the course of the day, and one by one headed into the studio to compare some notes and toss ideas back and forth. Studios are a reassuring constant in my life. Soundboards and speakers, music stands and pedals; the chaos that brings peace. I showed Murdoc the bass lines I had down for two of the songs I had finished and one more I started that morning. Russ made some adjustments to his drum kit. 2D sat on the sofa with a portable keyboard on his lap, making notes in the margins of a sheet of music, something Murdoc had written that I thought had potential for a single.

I caught him looking at me a few times, and I felt warm and secure. Every time I peeped over at him he was tapping his foot and singing under his breath. I wanted to sit next to him and lean my head on his shoulder so I could feel his warmth and smell him. 

Why should I hesitate?

The answer sat on a stool, his tongue hanging out as he repeated the rather challenging seventh and eighth measures of the piece I had written.

We lived in a balance created by the length of time we had played as a group, the bizarre and often dangerous situations we had faced, and a shared vision of creating a sound and culture that was like nothing else. My worry was not so much Murdoc's possibly wrathful reaction, but upsetting that balance. The repercussions could be fatal to our shared vision. The reverberations could splinter us. I feared destroying a professional and personal rapport that had taken years to build.

2D was just flat out scared shitless of Murdoc.

There are many kinds of courage, but they all boil down to one thing: is the risk worth the reward?

My reward was just ten feet away, his brows lowered in concentration. There was no risk that compared to that reward.

I set my guitar aside and stood. Ten feet. Not a problem. I sat down beside him. So far so good. I placed my hand on his leg. Without pausing for thought, he turned and kissed me.

E flat, A flat, silence.

Murdoc stood, stretching slowly to his full height like a swamp creature rising out of the muck. He took three clunky steps and stopped, looming over us with teeth bared.

Looked at 2D. Raised his bass.

Looked at me. Lowered his bass.

Looked at 2D. Raised his bass.

These actions repeated themselves several times. 

2D had dropped his music and was hunkered down with his arms over his head.

I rose and glared up at Murdoc, then reached over to take the bass from his hands. Deprived of a weapon, he snarled and bent over until his face was about five centimeters from 2D's. 2D shifted his left arm and squinted warily up at Murdoc.

Murdoc brought a trembling finger up to point at 2D's nose, its sharpened nail quivering. 2D shrank back a bit more. Murdoc held position for a second. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds? 2D began to uncurl his body and looked at Murdoc in confusion.

Murdoc straightened, spun on his heel, and clomped out of the room, slamming the door so hard the bass drum echoed and the piano lid crashed shut.

In the bleak silence, Russel sniffed and said, "That went far better than I expected."

“If he’d been holding anything else, I’d have laid better odds,” I said.

2D squeaked out, "I'd like to thank you, Russ, for not saying anything before."

"Your business is your business." He paused to tighten a bolt, adjusting the height of a tom. "Business is good?"

2D blushed and dropped the keyboard.

Russel turned his attention back to the drum kit. He tapped the tom a couple of times. "He's not gonna kill you. Too hard to replace you. Plus you know he'd give her anything she asks for." He stood up with a grunt and pocketed his wrench. "Huh. 2D walking round here all happy. Normally I'd hate that."

******************

Murdoc didn't return that night, which wasn't unusual. We never ask where he's been. Some things mere mortals are not meant to know.

Snuggled up later, 2D said, "Well, we don't need to sneak any more. Which will help with my anxiety, I think."

In answer I kissed his neck.

"What if the sneaking was why it's so good?"

At this I put my hand over his mouth. I pushed up onto my elbow and glared down at him. “You should probably stop talking.”

Snuggling re-commenced. Then I ruffled his hair, and grinned at him. That's all it takes to get things going again. 

Afterward, I rose to turn on the fan to cool us down. He watched me cross the room, and then asked, "What did you have planned for tomorrow? Only I was hoping maybe ice cream might be involved somewhere along the line."

I stopped to grab my phone off my dresser, and tossed it to him. He tried to catch it but it landed on his chest; he picked it up and swiped the lock code. The map popped up at once.

"This isn't a day trip."

“Nope.” I wasn't finding answers here. Or anywhere else. I had visited every place from our past that I could reach easily. Plastic Beach was pointless. Murdoc had burned the original Kong studio in Essex to the ground years ago. That left the obvious.

"Were you planning on telling me? I mean-"

I came back to the bed and placed a single finger over his lips. I took the phone and opened my email. Scrolled down to the confirmation from Heathrow and pointed to the reservations: two. “You get a free trip to Osaka. I can make ice cream happen, too.”

He sighed deeply and relaxed his shoulders. "Good job I had no plans, then. Russ and Murdoc?"

“They’ll survive. We have nothing major going on.” 

"I don't speak any Japanese."

Half the time he can barely speak English. "I'll be with you, 2D.”

“Oh, that’s right. I’m in.”

******************

Midnight in Osaka, and we were still at the airport.

They have free Wi-Fi. Finding good free Wi-Fi is like finding drugs: once you have a plug you can trust, you stay with it. 

As I opened my laptop, 2D asked, "Couldn't you have done this part from home at least?"

“Can't search for what I need from England. Information about who I’m looking for is restricted.”

The most reasonable person to seek out was Kyuzo, of course. Problem: I had no address or phone number for him. I haven't seen him in years, not since my last return from Japan, when Russ brought me here. I visited his shop and his home, and remembered vaguely where he lived, but map apps were useless trying to nail down one small house from another in a densely packed section of Osaka.

My searches turned up nothing. We were going to have to do this the hard way.

2D had closed his eyes and was now dozing in the seat to my left. I found a comfy corner for us, and piled my belongings next to me. His bag sat on the floor in front of him, and he had his feet up on it. He already bought an Osaka hat and a Godzilla t-shirt.

Obviously the airport couldn't remain a base of operations. I chose the best hotel I could find close to Kyuzo's neighborhood. This would be our first time alone together so I reserved the best room available. I woke him up and we took a taxi to the hotel.

2D let me take a shower first, and sat down at the table to read some standard hotel tour guides - a useless venture, as sight-seeing was not our purpose. It gave him something to do while he waited for me, though. When I emerged from the bathroom, he was gazing longingly at the Osaka Museum of Natural History, absorbed in the pictures of prehistoric Japan. Maybe I could take him when I was done here. If my boy wants dinosaurs, my boy shall have dinosaurs. I kissed his forehead as he stood and stretched and shambled to the shower. I took his seat and opened my laptop.

He was out in a few minutes, emanating a cloud of sweet-smelling steam. His hair was damp and tousled, and I had to reach out and muss it some more. It had its usual effect. 

We had an entire suite of furniture to experiment with, after only secretive snuggles in my bed. We hardly knew where to start. The couch was good but a tad squishy. Table was promising, but proved too low for 2D's extensive legs. Counter in the mini kitchen was better but really bit into my backside.

We ended up on the bed eventually anyway, because it works. The rest of the world faded away for a while, and there was only us.

We separated at last, shivering and panting. I rolled onto my side and nestled up against him. 

I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to search any more; I was tired of a life of playing connect-the-dots with my memories. I wanted to be at home. But being alone with 2D was almost overwhelming in its joy. No interruptions, no stifling ourselves, no separating to our respective rooms afterward. Just him. The conflict between the pain and pleasure made my heart ache.

He drew me in as close as possible, his arms wrapped tightly around me, his leg draped over my hip, his forehead against mine. He surrounded me. He kissed my forehead and my nose. I closed my eyes, and almost immediately fell asleep.

I woke several hours later and checked the time. Seven a.m. local. 2D was still sleeping, so I gently crept from under him and headed to the bathroom to wash up. When I came back out I stood watching him for a moment, loving the way the sheets twist around his legs when he's sprawled out.

When he woke up I showed him the area I needed to search, and he said, "I know what we need!" He picked up one of the guidebooks, and flipped to the "getting around in the city" section, and pointed triumphantly to the ad for the city's bike-share system. Not so useless after all. We both downloaded the app, and marked the location closest to where we would begin our search.

******************

Before we left we rented pocket WiFis from the front desk. The city's mobile coverage is patchy at best, so this is the solution. Secure searches were impossible, but at least we had GPS.

Nakazakicho is hip, colorful, and fun. But it's a confusing place to navigate; the buildings are arranged as though a child threw blocks across a floor. Each home is beautiful, but there's no pattern to the way they are laid out.

We found the bike port and managed to figure out how they work. In the busy streets and narrow alleys, it was clear to me they were going to be as much a hindrance as a help. But it's one of those things for me: it was 2D's idea and he was proud of himself for helping in a practical way. I would give these my best shot. 

A lot of brand new shops and restaurants had popped up. I recognized some of the older ones. On a hunch we headed down a side street which ended in an alley which ended at a wall. I'm allowed one bad hunch.

The next street definitely had a ramen shop I knew. I led him confidently through the maze of houses, trying to spot any sort of distinction between them. A row of decorative lotuses? A dragon sculpture? Pinwheels on the roof? None of it tripped any switches in my brain. We looped the back of the block and walked our bikes back to the main road.

And that was how the day progressed. We ate lunch in a tiny restaurant, during which 2D attempted to make polite conversation from a Japanese phrase book. He earnestly praised the care and breeding of koi - I think that was meant to be a compliment on the ukiyo-e on the wall. I corrected him gently.

Back on the bikes. Down the street. Into the narrow recesses between houses. Off the bikes. Walk from house to house. Round the block. Back on the bikes.

We wearily returned the bikes to their port, and trudged to the station. I fell asleep on the short trip back to the hotel. 2D elbowed me back to life when we arrived. We ordered room service for dinner, then tumbled into bed, too tired for anything but sleep.

We awoke to begin another day and another voyage. And another day of nothing but dead ends. I had maddening moments of near-clarity. I was positive this was the block. Positive this was the street. Positive this was the fence.

And it never, ever was.

******************

Day one had given way to day two which flowed into day three. We bought new socks with squishy bottoms on them. 2D never spoke a discouraging word, but he started looking very tired. On the third night I sat in the bathtub and cried in frustration. When I got out he rubbed my feet for a long time before I fell asleep.

The next morning I sat at the table picking at a bowl of rice and marking off the areas we had hit. The regions still left were depressingly vast. I put my head down on the table, feeling the cool polished wood against my cheek. My brain was empty. There was no point in moving ever again. 2D slipped behind me and craned his head around to look at me upside-down in effort to make me giggle. Seeing my face, he sat down and stroked my cheek. 

"Where are we off to today?" 

I pointed to the next adjacent area. “Here. As if it really makes a difference.” 

"Excellent choice. That was what I was thinking."

He was in a playful mood. I can't imagine anyone else who could spend this amount of time and effort and still have enough left to cheer up the cause of his discomfort. I peered through my hair at his good-natured face. I sat here in my anger, my hopelessness, and he still smiled at me. I was suddenly slammed with a wave of intense desire. I grabbed his hand and yanked him toward the bed. I needed something hard and fast, the kind of frenzied lovemaking where you don't even wait to get pants off. I needed him inside me, I needed him on top of me, I needed that endless patience spread over me like a blanket. 

When his breathing slowed he said, "Did that help?" I nodded into his shoulder. "Cause that's the kind of assistance I'm happy to offer at any time." I hugged him so hard I felt I could have broken him in half. Funny thing is, I actually could have without breaking a sweat.

And I needed to find the man responsible for that.

Train. Bikes. Streets. Lunch. Bikes. Feet. Bikes.

Then.

It wasn't a restaurant on the corner, it was an herb shop. It wasn't an alley, it was seriously more like a narrow driveway. It would have been so easy to miss, but for some reason I stopped. Three houses down. Oak terrace on the side, wide stairs. Concrete stoop. Brick facade by a western style door. Row of large potted palms - no, wait. Those hadn't been there. But I knew the windows. I knew the door.

I started up the walkway. He waited on the sidewalk. I tapped on the door. After a few seconds, I knocked a bit harder. I heard an interior door open, and a cat meow. Shuffling footsteps approached the door, it opened, and a small wrinkled face peered out.

She opened it only far enough to pull a chain lock taut. She grimaced at me and spoke harshly in Japanese, "You again! I thought you found what you wanted last time!"

“Me- again?”

She shook her head. "I'm done with this. You need to move on." She closed the door and we heard a lock click.

"Please. I just need to see Mr. Kyuzo."

Her voice came through the door, short and dismissive: "I told you last time! Kyuzo is dead."

All of that searching - for this.

******************

We ate a rather quiet dinner in the hotel dining room. I didn't have much of an appetite, and 2D ended up eating more of my meal than I did. We finished off a bottle of wine, though. By the end of the meal I felt more like myself, positive and hopeful, and hungry for a more spiritual sustenance.

We gave the shower a try and judged it highly overrated. A little danger might add some spice, but the danger of a head hitting porcelain is decidedly unromantic. 

In the morning my sense of purpose had returned and I felt ready to face what came next. 

2D sat on the bed, writing. His breathy singing and the sound of pencil scratching on paper made me ache for home. He rolled each word around in his mouth, tasting and exploring the texture. That's the challenge of song-writing: it's not just about the message, it's about how the words feel as they come out of your mouth, how easily they drop off your lips. 

He laid his pencil down, and asked if I wanted to order breakfast or go out.

“Here, I think.”

He nodded and picked up the phone. Coming to sit moments later, he asked, "What's our next stop, then?"

"Our last one.”

******************

I don't have to try to remember where this is. I had an address; I have GPS. It's about a two hour drive, and I knew exactly where I was going.

I slowed and came to a stop at the end of a wide drive-way, protected by a guard-house. The bar from the gate was on the ground, splintered off its arm.

“Don’t look like much of a going concern, does it?” asked 2D.

I pulled into the drive, over the broken wood. The south parking lot was empty. I parked in the closest spot, "reserved for Dr. Ando." Dr. Ando clearly was not here, nor would they be arriving any time soon.

The building was completely burned out.

I got out of the car and removed my sunglasses. The front doors hung partly off their hinges, smokey grey and cracked. Paint peeled in curls off cement walls. Windows were smashed.

I went up to the doors and peered in. The walls seemed intact, but the floor worried me. The front desk had burned away completely, as had the bookshelves and chairs in the reception area. 

We walked around the side of the building, and then to the back. The playground gate stood open. I threaded my way through the equipment, swings hanging motionless, the slide radiating heat. The glass doors opposite the gate led into the gymnasium. 

My boots crunched on the blacktop as I walked toward the doors. I shaded my eyes and squinted through into the gloomy interior. The gym floor had burned away completely, revealing concrete foundation walls.

So this was the little escapade I’d been blocking out. This place had a way of messing up my memories, didn’t it? There had been many times in my life I dreamed of burning it to the ground. Apparently last time I was here I did.

2D made his way over to the door. “What do you reckon?”

I smiled. “I’ve been a bad girl.”

******************

We celebrated our last day in Osaka with a trip to the museum. 2D bought a triceratops hat, and a kit to assemble a tyrannosaurus. No one on earth deserved a dinosaur more than he did. We got ice creams on the way to the airport.

On the taxi ride home from Heathrow 2D burbled and chirped away, glad to be back. He suggested getting take-out - from a local Japanese restaurant. He was serious. As we passed the kitchen door when we arrived home, I saw Murdoc eating a sandwich. He set it down on his plate and opened his mouth - and 2D shushed him. He shushed Murdoc. And Murdoc shushed.

We went up to our rooms to unpack. I hugged my acoustic, patted my new electric affectionately, and said, "I'll be with you shortly."

I had just sat down on the bed when there was a tap at the door, and it opened a crack. 2D slipped into my room, and stood there smiling.


End file.
